


Beyond These Palace Walls

by flowersinxeirhair



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Disney, M/M, princejolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4290762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersinxeirhair/pseuds/flowersinxeirhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re out of your head,” Combeferre added with a small smile, pushing Enjolras up into a sitting position to help him slide out of his jacket.<br/>“For once, I think he very well is, Ferre,” Courfeyrac replied, “Out of his head and into his heart.”<br/>“That was terrible,” Enjolras pointed out, quirking a brow at Courf, but leaned forward and squeezed his hand. “But I fear I rather am.”</p><p> </p><p>in which enjolras and grantaire dance all night, enjolras is smitten, and grantaire is nowhere to be found</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Enjolras was laughing. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were completely baffled. 

As a rule, after one of these grand affairs, Enjolras would storm up to his rooms early and snap at the two of them as they helped him get ready for bed. He’d begin with stories on how disgusting the whole night had been, and quickly lose himself in tales of corrupt men he’d met and been made to dance with. Then, before either of them knew it, it was three am and Enjolras was standing on his bedframe speechifying about how they were going to take down the whole monarchy, how things would certainly change when he took the throne, how he was going to turn everything upside down and do it without a spouse at his side. Courfeyrac would roll his eyes at Combeferre when Enjolras wasn’t looking, and Combeferre would spend half an hour talking him into bed. Often enough, they were too exhausted to face the stairs to their room and would collapse onto the chaise-longue together, already half-asleep by the time they laid down and completely passed out the second their heads hit the pillow.

That night, however, Enjolras had actually retired for the night when the ball finished. He was not speechifying at all, no, there was a huge grin plastered on his face, and he leaned against his large bedroom doors, laughing.

Courfeyrac shot Combeferre a meaningful glance, and Ferre mouthed “I don’t know” emphatically in response.

Another bright laugh bubbled from Enjolras and he pushed himself away from the door, pressing his hands over his mouth and waltzing across the floor towards his dresser. 

Combeferre sidled over to Courfeyrac without taking his eyes off Enjolras, who had begun humming under his breath as he began pulling the ribbons from his long hair. 

“What the hell?” he asked under his breath.

His gaze still locked on Enjolras, Courfeyrac shook his head slowly. “Not a clue,” he replied. 

Enjolras’ humming swelled to a crescendo as he dropped the last ribbon on his dresser, and began carding his fingers through his curls leisurely.

“En…jolras?” Courfeyrac called cautiously, “You okay, honey?"

And Enjolras didn’t even begin a rant on how unethical most honey companies were, or how disgusting the actual concept of eating honey was, just turned in his chair to grin at the two of them and replied, “I’m great.”

“You’re not going to shout about how shitty the party was?” he asked cautiously.  
“Well,” Enjolras said, somewhat defiantly as he let Combeferre help him up from his chair to get undressed, “It wasn’t exactly terrible.” Again, a laugh burst from his lips, and he squeezed Combeferre’s hands, tiptoeing excitedly to tell him, “In fact, it was wonderful.”

With a huge grin still plastered on his lips, he tugged Combeferre forwards with a giggle, waltzing him around the room, much to Ferre’s surprise, who stumbled over his feet at first, entirely unused to dancing. 

“Enjolras!” he squawked, but the boy just laughed again, this time joined by Courfeyrac, who seemed to find the whole situation hilariously charming.

“Oh, Combeferre,” Enjolras sighed wistfully, tilting his head back as he twirled himself on the spot and switched to Courfeyrac’s arms, “Did you see the way he danced with me?”

“The way who danced with you?” Courfeyrac asked, swaying easily with Enjolras, a small smile playing at his lips. He didn’t know that he’d ever seen the prince this happy before.

“Oh, he wouldn’t tell me his actual name,” Enjolras said, as though only just recalling this information. “R, was all he said."

Enjolras seemed unable to hold back another laugh and grabbed Combeferre with one hand, tugging him close again. “But we danced all night!”

“Is that so?” Combeferre said, smiling at Courfeyrac, who was still trying to figure out the strange waltz Enjolras was leading them in.

“He was simply wonderful,” Enjolras replied, letting his eyes shut and throwing himself back on his bed.

“Was he dreamy?” Courfeyrac teased, sitting beside Enjolras on the bed, deft fingers untying Enjolras’ ascot.

Enjolras’ smile was blissful. “Completely,” he sighed in response.

“You’re out of your head,” Combeferre added with a small smile, pushing Enjolras up into a sitting position to help him slide out of his jacket. 

“For once, I think he very well is, Ferre,” Courfeyrac replied, “Out of his head and into his heart.”

“That was terrible,” Enjolras pointed out, quirking a brow at Courf, but leaned forward and squeezed his hand. “But I fear I rather am.”

Courf laughed brightly in return at Combeferre’s expression. “I can’t believe he said that,” he mouthed emphatically. Once again, Courfeyrac responded with a laugh.

“Come on, your highness, up we get,” Courfeyrac smirked as he helped Enjolras to his giddy feet. Enjolras didn’t even protest the title. Combeferre was at an utter loss.

They undressed the prince with no protestations whatsoever, bar an occasional giggle or various hummed melodies. Once he was in his night things, it became apparent that he wasn’t going to settle any time soon. Regardless, it was already hours earlier than he was usually ready for bed and he was clearly not about to yell loud enough to wake half the palace. The pair of them were equally unsettled and pleased with the night’s outcome. As Enjolras gestured for the two of them to join him where he sat cross-legged on the unnecessarily huge bed, they shared a glance for half a second before complying. Rarely did they get the chance for leisure on one of these nights, and it had been the longest time since they’d been able to just sit and talk to their friend.

Courfeyrac bounced a little as he knelt up across from Enjolras, an excited grin on his face. Combeferre rolled his eyes fondly at the pain and perched at the foot of the bed, leaning his weary spine against the bedpost. 

“So,” Courfeyrac began, drawing out the syllable, “Tell us all about him.”  
Enjolras’ grin widened by a mile and he shook his head fondly at the duvet. 

“He’s…” he began, brow lifting and a breathless laugh escaping him. “He’s completely impossible.”

Courfeyrac arched a brow and leaned forward on one hand, but Enjolras continued as though he hadn’t noticed a thing.

“He’s skeptical and bitter and sarcastic. But- Gods, he’s so- he’s so intelligent and-and well-read, completely hilarious, too, I don’t remember laughing that much in months.”

“And what did he look like?” Courfeyrac prompted.

“Well, he wore a mask, of course, but. Gosh, his eyes. And his hair, his hair was like—like, completely wild, you know? And he was strong, too. I mean, it’s been the longest time since some led me in a dance,” Enjolras marvelled, flopping down onto his back, “Not to mention his lips, or his jaw, oh my gosh, I could go on for days.”

“Are you going to see him again?” Combeferre asked, inquisitive.

There was a pause. Enjolras’ eyes widened at the ceiling, and he sat back up hastily, his blonde curls flying about his face wildly.

“I don’t- I don’t know. Oh my gods, I don’t even know his whole name, let alone his title, or where he’s from, or- or what he does! How am I going to see him again, Ferre, ohhh my gods-”

“Okay, calm down, honey, breathe,” Courfeyrac rushed to his aid. They were used to this. This was something they could manage; freak-out Enjolras. “We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

Enjolras nodded slowly.

“I have to see him again, Fey.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t be ridiculous, we can’t possibly call it love at this early stage,” Combeferre replied, comparing two large pears.
> 
> Enjolras merely leaned back against the supports of the stall, a smile etched onto his face. “Oh, I don’t know, Ferre. I’ve never felt anything quite like this.”
> 
>  
> 
> in which r's life goes on and there is a surprise encounter

“Joly, I really don’t know what to tell you,” Grantaire huffed as he dropped the crate down under their stall table. “I got drunk, danced a bit, and then came home.”

Joly leaned forwards on his elbows, resting his chin in his hands and nudging Bossuet in the side. “He’s doing it again,” he sing-songed.

Over his shoulder, Bossuet called, “Cut it out, R, and tell him what really happened!”

Grantaire huffed and turned away from where Joly was sat, hauling out a crate from beneath the stand to restock the display. Their market stall was cramped, and hardly one in a million. You only had to walk a few paces down the marketplace to reach another stall just like theirs. But they had a few regulars, and sometimes nobles would drop by and give a little more than they were charged. They did well enough, and all their produce was home grown, meaning they had no problems with suppliers.

“Don’t walk away from this conversation, young man, I demand to know exactly what happened at that party last night,” Joly replied, folding his arms mock-sternly.

“But dad,” Grantaire whined with a grin.

“Listen to your father,” Bossuet called from across the way with a matching toothy grin.

Grantaire laughed. “Look, I said I’d take some of Ponine’s chickens off her hands, I’ll recount the whole night in detail when I get back, okay?”

“Every detail!” Joly called after him, waving his cane emphatically.

Grantaire laughed as he retreated, his arms laden down with baskets as he headed market-south for Eponine’s stall.

Alongside Joly and Bossuet, she was one of his oldest friends. They’d grown up together in the same poor township, playing in the streets and building their dreams with just a couple of twigs and a handful of imagination. They were royals together, they were town heroes, they were faeries and merfolk and satyrs and ordinary people who did extraordinary things.

And now, all grown up, they were extraordinary people doing ordinary things together. She ran a small livestock stall just a few minutes stroll from his own grocer’s one, full of the farm animals and their milk and eggs and cheese made by her own worn hands. It was quite the small spot, hidden away, and she was ever in surplus of products due to the lack of buyers passing her way. His mud-spattered shirtsleeves fluttered about his wrists, and he hastily shoved them up to his elbows, palming the hair from his face with both hands and breathing in the breeze. The day was bright, the wind was fresh and he was still abuzz from last night’s events.

He could hardly believe his luck. (To _dance_ with the prince) Nothing could dim his mood. (To be held by the _prince_ )

Eponine rolled her eyes as he came to her stall, a skip in his step and a smile on his face.

“Good morning, Happy McGee,” she grinned.

Instantly he replaced his grin with a wry smile. “Good morning, you,” he replied, hopping up to perch on her stall table, plonking down his basket.

“And how are you feeling this morning, lover boy?” She smirked, resting her chin in her hands as she leaned forwards on the table. Grantaire scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Mademoiselle, I believe you have some chickens for me, and that is all the business I have here. There is no gossiping on the itinerary.”

Eponine laughed and flicked the cage open, slowly unloading the livestock into Grantaire’s basket. “At least tell me,” she began, handing him a beautiful fat hen that would not fit in his basket, “where did you get your finery?”

Grantaire smiled, stroking a crooked finger over the hen’s head. “An old friend owed me a favour, there were enough scraps for some new fancywear. Now, I really have to go, Ponine, we’ll catch up when the working day is done,” he replied, hopping down from the table and turning to make his way back his own stall.

“Why are you so intent on work?” she called after him with a laugh. “It’s hardly like you!”

“Goodbye, Eponine!” he called with a laugh, cooing over the fowl in his arms.

 

 

The hustle and bustle of the market parted for the trio as they passed through. On any other occasion, Enjolras would have plenty to say on the matter, how they were all people and all deserved the same treatment and why must he be given right of way merely because he was born of two certain people? And yet, he was so engrossed in conversation that he barely noticed the stares and gasps of passers-by.

“See, if we could check the invitations—check for anyone name of R, or perhaps even beginning with R, I’m sure we would find him eventually,” he was explaining to Combeferre eagerly while Courfeyrac tried his hardest to hide a smile.

“Yes, Enj, but my question is what then? You’d visit the home of every person in attendance whose name began with R?”

“If that’s what it took, then yes, perhaps I would!” Courfeyrac laughed, holding out a hand for Combeferre to pass him the list as he paused to browse the wares of a nearby stall.

“Love certainly has changed you, your highness,” he joked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we can’t possibly call it love at this early stage,” Combeferre replied, comparing two large pears.

Enjolras merely leaned back against the supports of the stall, a smile etched onto his face. “Oh, I don’t know, Ferre. I’ve never felt anything quite like this.”

As Courf exchanged a handful of coins for a bag of fresh eggs, he exchanged a look with Combeferre.

“Come along, angel, we’ve a long list and not enough time to daydream,” Courfeyrac chided, taking Enjolras’s arm and veering them further into the market.

So busy was Combeferre in scanning the list that he hardly noticed the man cutting in front of them seemingly from nowhere, and collided with him harshly, starting up a chorus of squawking from the man’s basket.

“My apologies,” Combeferre began. The stranger turned, an apology on his lips that quickly transformed to an ‘O’ of shock as he set eyes upon Combeferre’s company.

His eyes widened to the size of dishplates and a sudden flurry of feathers obscured their vision; chickens flapping about everywhere, their squawks resonating off the stone cobbles and arches.

“Are you quite alright--?” Enjolras began to ask, stepping forwards and waving feathers out of his view, but by the time they had cleared, he saw no one stood where the man had been.

None of the three moved for a firm few seconds in their shock, until a pair of merchants came scurrying over.

“Taire, what in God’s green earth are you playing at?” one was calling, scooping up a hen from the walkway.

“You can’t waste stock like that, Ponine needs this money—” He cut himself off with a sharp gasp, bowing as low as he could while still supporting himself on his cane.

“No, no, please,” Enjolras insisted, moving to help him upright once more.

“Your highness,” his friend breathed.

Combeferre scanned the street, but there was not a trace of the stranger.

“Are you all okay? Your friend, he—I think his highness must have startled him. He disappeared, is he quite alright?”

The two shared a glance. “He ... seems to be in that habit, sire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back by popular demand! thank you all so much for your wonderful feedback, sorry it took me so long, and that it's so short, but i have lots of ideas to continue this story and if you guys are enjoying it i'll think about actually developing it into an actual realised fic with plot and everything  
> thank you so much for reading and please do let me know what you think! xx


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m serious, Combeferre, I’m going to find him.”
> 
> “That’s fine, we know, you’re in love with Mystery R and your only lead is from the palace chef who says someone named R works nights at a local tavern, you won’t stop telling us, but Enjolras, do you know who you are?”
> 
> Enjolras huffed, and began to respond, but Combeferre cut him off with a loud tired noise.
> 
> “You’re the prince of our nation, Enjolras, soon to be king and you can’t keep depriving yourself of sleep to sneak down to a public house and get too hammered to remember the reason you went in the first place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is super late im sorry but i really have no idea what im doing with this so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Enjolras had never felt this thrilled. The night was dark, darker from beneath his hood, and he’d never been this far from the palace on his own before.

His “investigation” (coined by Courfeyrac, used by no one) had led him here, from his request to Feuilly, news travelled through the palace staff back to Enjolras. The only halfway decent lead he’d found had led him here, to a tavern known as the Corinthe. Even before Enjolras entered, it was loud. Light and laughter were pouring from the windows and a handful of inebriated stragglers were hovering outside, their conversations loud and cut through with bellowing laughter and smoke.

As he drew nearer, a clear voice started a loud song from within; a language he did not recognise. He tugged his hood lower and approached the doors, more voices joining the melody quite at once, and the sound of clapping and stamping, rhythm from a tambourine echoing through the alley.

He took a deep breath, and pushed his way in through the swinging oak doors.

Lamplight flooded over him in warm orange, the music far louder from inside, a large crowd of people gathered to dance some old folk dance that was far from the things Enjolras had been taught in his dance lessons. He’d grown up on the waltz, the foxtrot, ballroom dances, transferrable dances for social events.

But, this.

This was laughter and kicks and skirts flying everywhere; a burly man slinging his grinning mistress over his shoulder, people stood on tables to stomp and clap and twirl to the beat, the bartender guffawing as someone clambered up onto the bar to dance their way along its length, some inebriated soldier tugging his lady into his arms and letting her kiss him silly, lifting her off the ground as a few people danced a circle around them.

It was swelteringly hot, incredibly loud, and like nothing Enjolras had ever seen.

He loved it.

The crowd engulfed him before he could change his mind, and he had absolutely no intentions of doing such a thing. A beautiful, curvy girl was tugging him by the hands, singing in that foreign tongue he couldn’t understand with a wide grin. He laughed, and let her.

He was so distracted by the fluidity of her movements – like nothing he’d ever seen before. The way her hips moved, the perfect curve of her fingers. The bells about her hips jangling with each step she took. wild curls flying about her head and her loud laugh vibrant and wonderful. Rapid heel-slapping and leaps and kicks and spins and clapping, it was fast and hot and oh, it was wonderful. So distracted. In fact, that by the time he escaped the crowd remembering what he had set out to do. Most everyone else had disappeared. The bartender on duty reported that R’s shift had ended. and he’d gone home for the night.

The next night, R was not working.

(Enjolras stayed and danced anyway)

Third night in a row, he was determined not to get distracted. Almost as determined as the sailor boy who taught him to drink like he’d never drunk before. The wooden tankards were so much bigger than the flutes and goblets they kept at the palace, and he’d never quite tasted alcohol so bitter. The taste, he could do without, but the rush, oh, it thrilled him. Just three drinks into the night, his fingers were tingling and everything seemed so funny, and he missed R yet again.

When he returned, sullen and tripping over the hem of his cloak, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were waiting outside the gates, hushing him when he got loud enough to risk waking up the entire kingdom.

“Ay,” Courfeyrac tutted under his breath as he deposited a mumbling bundle of grumpy prince onto his bed. “Tomorrow morning is not going to be fun.”

Combeferre smiled, and nodded his agreement, holding out a hand for Courfeyrac. “Then I guess we should make the most of the time we have while he sleeps it off, hm?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Courfeyrac’s temple.

Courf grinned, and the night didn’t seem quite so daunting any more.

 

“I’m going again.”

Courfeyrac groaned and rolled over to bury his face in threadbare pillow. Combeferre offered a pat on the back in reassurance and turned his head to find the source of Enjolras’s voice.

“Enjolras, stop it.”

“I’m serious, Combeferre, I’m going to find him.”

“That’s fine, we know, you’re in love with Mystery R and your only lead is from the palace chef who says someone named R works nights at a local tavern, you won’t stop telling us, but Enjolras, do you know who you are?”

Enjolras huffed, and began to respond, but Combeferre cut him off with a loud tired noise.

“You’re the prince of our nation, Enjolras, soon to be king and you can’t keep depriving yourself of sleep to sneak down to a public house and get too hammered to remember the reason you went in the first place.”

Courfeyrac rolled over, tucked against Combeferre’s side. “I know you don’t want them, but I don’t want to pay taxes, and regardless of what want, you’ve got responsibilities and you can’t just keep avoiding them to find your true love,” he snapped.

“You don’t--”

“Not finished!” Courf interrupted, holding up a hand. “This isn’t just about you. It’s been three weeks, and I’ve not been able to spend a full night with my lovely boyfriend once because of you and your insistence to get there every single night and your inability to get further than three steps in the door without getting pissed out of your mind! I’m drawing a line, Enjolras, we cannot keep covering for you!”

The silence stretched out long enough that Courfeyrac wondered if Enjolras had left the room. Then,

“I’ve been quite ignorant, haven’t I?” comes a small voice.

Combeferre sighs, and extends an arm towards Enjolras and pulls the sheets back slightly, nudging Courfeyrac to the edge to make room. “Come here.”

Enjolras slipped himself in next to his friend, pulling the blanket over them fully and resting his head on his chest. Ferre smiled slightly, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras murmured.

Courfeyrac shushed him. “We’re going with you next time, but we need some bloody sleep first.”

 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were a stark contrast in the moonlight. It made Enjolras wonder what had drawn them together, as Combeferre clenched, white-knuckled, his cloak about his shoulders, looking about nervously.

“I didn’t even know there was an alleyway here,” he murmured. “Are you sure this is the right place? It hardly seems safe.”

Courfeyrac giggled, throwing his hood off and greeting the cool night breeze with a grin.

“It’s exciting to be sneaking around again,” Courfeyrac whispered excitedly, clutching to Enjolras’ arm. “It’s like we’re teenagers again.”

“Oh, God, let’s not go there.”

“Shh, keep it down,” Enjolras hissed over his shoulder, leading them further down the cobbles until the warm light began streaming onto the stones like a paint pot of gold had been tipped over.

He turned to face them when they were within range; drinking songs reaching them faintly and the occasional maid or dandy giving them the eye.

“This is it,” Enjolras murmured.

Courfeyrac was like a puppy straining at the leash, his eyes fixed on the doors and his foot tapping in time to the fiddle. Combeferre, on the other hand, was the picture of nervous, his dark eyes wide and flitting between the building and his friends. He cleared his throat and focused himself on Enjolras.

“We’re here to find R. No more getting distracted, alright? We go straight to the bar and ask for him-- Courf, shit-” 

Enjolras had to hold his hood down as he raced after Courfeyrac, Combeferre following with a groan. The pair of them were going to be the death of him.

As soon as he was through the doors, Enjolras lost sight of them both. Except, wait- no, Courfeyrac was on a table already. Heel stomping and hands clapping over his head and there was Combeferre at the foot of the table. Courfeyrac tugging at the hem of his boyfriend’s cloak and -- okay, both on the table. Combeferre decidedly less happy about it than Courfeyrac.

Great start.

He shouldered his way through the crowd with practised ease, leaning heavily on the bar when he finally arrived there. A scrawny barmaid approached, looking frazzled. 

“What can I get you?”

“I’m actually looking for someone,” Enjolras began, his heart catching in his throat. He prepared himself to be disappointed each time he got this close, but there was always a thrill of hope racing through him that the answer might be yes. 

“Aren’t we all,” the barmaid huffed. “I’m new around here, let me fetch someone who can help you out, mate,” and stalked off. 

Enjolras sighed, and sat himself on a stool, his hands folded in his lap as he caught his breath. It 

“Hey,” a breathless voice came from behind him, a hand resting between his shoulder-blades, and Enjolras turned to find Combeferre looking dishevelled and slightly afraid. “How’s it going?”

It was always so hot in here, and awful loud. He was determined not to get distracted. Courf and Ferre were supposed to be guiding him, but he understood well how overwhelming the Corinthe could be. He’d keep himself on-task, give them a pass. It must be quite refreshing to be away from the palace with no errand to run for once. “Someone’s on their way over to see if they can tell me who’s in tonight. Where’s Courfeyrac?”

“Um,” Combeferre breathed, and gestured to the large circle forming in the crowd. 

A wild mess of curls was dancing about in the middle. Enjolras arched a brow. 

“As long as he’s having fun,” he murmured, watching him incredulously. “He certainly has some hips on him, Gods.”

Combeferre smiled out the corner of his mouth. “He does, doesn’t he?”

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, but a burly man with a mess of yarn-braided hair tied out of his face is approaching them, and he stands up to greet him.

“You the one who keeps asking after R?” the man asked, rolling his sleeves up, and leaning his elbows on the bar. 

“Yes, that’s me, is he-?” Enjolras can barely get the words out, his chest feeling like it was growing increasingly tighter, before the man lifts a finger to point across the bar, smiling vaguely. Enjolras followed the direction, and froze in place. He could hear Combeferre only faintly in his ear (“Enj- is that-- that’s him, isn’t it? Oh my Gods, I honestly wasn’t expecting …”), but suddenly the noise of the song and music and stomps and jeers seemed to fade into the background. 

He was just as he’d remembered and simultaneously nothing like he’d thought. He’d the same wild hair and strong jaw. the same big hands and oh, to see his face without a mask opened his wide green eyes up by a milestone. he was as beautiful, as exquisite as that first night at the ball, but, here, dancing on the bar, he was all the more wild.

His hips were twice as impressive as Courf’s, and his arms moved as though through water, graceful and messy all at once. He was laughing like he knew everyone in the room, dancing like he’d never dance again, and steadily getting closer to where Enjolras was stood, frozen.

“R,” he breathed, shrugging off his cloak to see more fully. 

R looked down to see who’d called him, and promptly fell off the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much love goes out to [ poze-laceen](http://poze-laceen.tumblr.com/%E2%80%9D%E2%80%9D)
> 
> thank u so much for helping me out, everyone please go say hey xx

**Author's Note:**

> i dont even know if im going to continue this?? it was just a plot bunny born from the song "These Palace Walls" from Aladdin the musical [hence the title] so i'd love love love your guyses feedbackk


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